Tis The Season
by SpookshowBabyx
Summary: With Storybrooke safe from harm just in time for the holidays, Regina ventures out into New York to find Henry and Emma who remain victim of the memory spell the Mayor helped to alter. With a cure in hand, it's up to Regina to figure out how to break the spell without arousing suspicion. Slight AU. Swan Queen.


**A/N:** _Merry Christmas and happy holidays, guys! Sorry this is a bit of a late one. I wasn't planning on doing a Christmas fic this year as I had a load of other writing that needed doing (yes, I know I owe_ several _chapters for my other SQ stories!) but it's been tradition, and at about 7pm last night I regretted not doing anything for this year. So, here we are- I forbade myself from making this longer than a one-shot, so it's turned into a long one, fit in around Christmassy chores and events- I hope you like it!_

 _I borrowed the main storyline for this short from an idea I've been sitting on for a while for a longer angst fic, and tweaked it hugely from my original plan. This is primarily AU, but takes place around series... 3 I think? After Emma and Henry cross the town line to live- false lives- in New York. Rather than Hook, I have sent Regina out to retrieve them and bring them home, and am working off the premise that she's doing so as things in Storybrooke are sorted rather than because there will be a battle. It's the last piece of the puzzle now that she feels it's safe enough to allow her son- and Emma by default- back to town, just in time for Christmas!_

 _Enjoy, and it would be the best Christmas gift you guys could give me to leave a review!_

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

Mary Margaret asks dubiously, sitting with one hand rested on the swell of her stomach and the other clutched, white-knuckled, around the handle of her coffee mug. Of course, she isn't drinking coffee- no caffeine to take the edge off these days, though she could sure _use_ some. She firmly believes the baby calling her body home has allocated her bladder as their own personal stress-ball; one they seem intent on squeezing mostly at night.

" _It w_ asn't _this tiresome the_ first _time._ "

She'd grumbled to David last night, before biting her tongue and enduring the awkward silence that followed. They'd not discussed the matter further, not even this morning when talking about Emma and what she might be doing in the unknown land beyond Storybrooke's volatile barrier. David had simply cooked them both breakfast, before making her the green tea she sips at now- halfheartedly- and heading off to work his shift at the Station.

Filling in for their absent daughter- lost to them in more ways than one.

 _Again. Oh, god, lost_ again _._

She sighs, her mouth a hard line as she studies the Mayor pensively.

"As sure as I can be, and that's really the best option you've got."

Regina sighs, not liking the way the younger woman stares at her. After all, it isn't _her_ fault- not this time- that they're in this situation.

"And what if you're _wrong_?"

Hook demands from this position on the Charming's small sofa, and she shoots him a disgruntled look; not understanding why the irksome pirate is still hanging around when his reason for doing so resides in another state none the wiser.

" _If_ I'm wrong, then I endure a no doubt awkward encounter, and go back to the drawing board, but I am almost _certain_ that I have everything figured out. It took a little bartering with Gold, but much as he might _profess_ the opposite, I think that little imp has taken quite a shine to Miss Swan, and I _do_ believe he holds a certain amount of stock in Henry being his grandchild."

She shudders at this fact even now, but appreciates the blonde's foolish life choices have worked in her favour this time.

 _But then, that's just Emma all over, isn't it? Lucking out as the result of what I'm presuming to be a clumsy, backseat rut with the Dark One's heir. Impossible woman._

She purses her lips, but a small glint of amusement flickers in dark eyes.

"So what's your plan?"

Mary Margaret pushes, wishing Regina would take a seat rather than standing stiffly in the middle of the room in her sharp heels and forbiddingly tailored coat, looking far smarter than seems fair in comparison to her maternity pants and sweatshirt.

The brunette pulls a small vile of pale silver liquid from her pocket and holds it up so that it catches the light.

"There should be just enough in here to work on both Henry and Miss Swan. Once ingested, the memories they lost while crossing the town line should come back with no after effect. The _hardest_ part is going to be getting them to drink it, as I will be a complete _stranger_ to them, and am unsure how each of them will react and so would like to avoid any curious scenes in a public place."

"Wait a minute, why are _you_ the one that's going out there? Emma's more likely to trust me than you, and besides, I've been out in that strange world before."

Hook points out with frown, and the Mayor glowers over at him as she reminds the pirate

"Because Henry is my s _on_... And what possible _cause_ do you have to believe Emma will trust you over me? A well dressed stranger without any alterior motive seems a lot less alarming than lustful pining and a missing _limb_ in my book."

Blue eyes narrow at this, but the brunette pays Hook's irritation no mind, and continues beneath her breath

"And it stands to _reason,_ given that she trusted myself over you while aware of her surroundings before all this happened... Not that anybody _else_ appreciated that fact."

Hook offers her a disbelieving scowl, while Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and chips in impatiently

"Oh, I don't know about that. _David_ might have appreciated it."

"That had little to do with _me_ , and _everything_ to do with the way Hook looked at your daughter."

The Mayor mutters, and the schoolteacher raises a brow as she asks curiously

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't... But this conversation is a practice in pointlessness as I _will_ be the one going to New York. It was _my_ magic and _my_ talking to Gold that provided a memory cure, and it's _my_ son I'm intent on bringing home. If it were just Miss Swan wandering around outside the town line, the pirate could play not-so-noble knight for all I care, but that's not the case, and I refuse to put Henry's wellbeing in that man's hands."

"You put it in Emma's..."

Hook counteracts, and the brunette hisses venomously

"Well, she's his _mother_."

"You've changed your tune, love."

"Enough!"

Snow scolds as she rubs her temples exhaustedly. Behind her, fairy lights flicker in the window; festive and cheerful much like the rest of the apartment. The only thing missing is the other half of her family.

"Regina, you and I have had our differences, and that's putting it lightly. But, I can't overlook what you did for Emma before she and Henry left town, and so I suppose I'm happy to place faith in you once again."

"I don't need your _permission_."

The darker woman snaps, and Mary Margaret sighs as she pushes her mug away with a wrinkle of her nose.

"No, I know that. I wasn't _giving_ you permission, I was giving you my faith."

"I don't want, nor need either."

"That's your choice."

"It is."

"I just hope luck's on your side, whether you want it or not. There is nothing I would like more for Christmas than to have my family back."

The younger woman confides earnestly, and the brunette responds with a curt, business-like nod as she turns on a sharp heel for the door.

"You and me both. Henry and I have spent every Christmas in this land together, and I'm not prepared to let that stop now."

Regina states with an air of finality, before slipping out into the cold draft of the stairwell, closing the door behind her with enough force to cause the wreath hung over the peephole to rustle.

* * *

"Shush."

Regina scolds her phone as the robotic woman trapped inside tells her to turn around when possible. Such technology is entirely foreign to her, but it is something- one of quite a _few_ things- the Sheriff had shown her before disappearing from their lives. Given that everything about her current surroundings is foreign also, she's prepared to give the younger woman a silent- _and very private!_ \- nod of thanks in this instance, as the navigation program she'd downloaded before leaving has served her well on this curious trip.

Parking up and offering the street a dubious once over, she steps from the comfort of her Benz and braces herself against the cold winter air. Tall buildings shield her from the worst of the wind, but they have been replaced with the sooty stench of car exhaust and she finds she is instantly homesick for the town that has caused her so much inner turmoil over the years. Stalking from her car, she argues for a short while with the toll meter, before finally deeming her endeavor to be successful.

"What an ordeal..."

She grumbles, double checking she's locked her car, before dipping her hand- for what feels like the hundredth time- into her pocket to touch the glass vial hidden within. Breathing a sigh of relief as she closes her fingers gently over her cure to end this madness, she looks up at the building at the end of the street and swallows nervously.

 _What could go wrong?_

She asks herself irritably, as nerves are not ordinarily something she suffers, but there is a lot riding on her successfully helping- not to mention _finding!_ \- Henry and Emma, and while she has no reason to believe Belle's research into where the two might be residing will be flawed, she has learnt to expect a certain amount of unnecessary difficulty surrounding any situation involving Emma Swan.

"Knowing _that_ idiot and her paranoid ways, she's set up an address as a decoy."

Regina gripes as she heads uncertainly towards the building in question. Up close, she is able to read the names beneath the neat line of intercom buzzers, and she nips lightly at the tip of her tongue as she spies a promising sign third from the left.

E. Swan.

"Well... Imagine that."

The brunette breathes, dark eyes flickering to the ghastly streamers of tinsel tacked to peeling green doors that flutter in the wind, but she hesitates with her hands remaining fisted in her coat. She tells herself to simply press the buzzer and improvise but can't.

 _What if I push it and I get Henry, not... her? What if he answers and my voice stops working? What if my_ heart _stops working?_

"Don't be a fool, dear."

She reprimands such worrying between clenched teeth, but still her fingers refrain from obeying her command.

"Excuse me, sorry."

A mumbled apology to her right, and she glances distractedly over her shoulder as she moves reflexively out of the way. Breath catching in her throat, her mouth forms a delicate, open flower as she watches a figure she knows well continue on down the street.

"Henry?"

She tries to croak, but, just as she'd feared, no sound comes out. The boy is a good couple of inches taller than when she'd last seen him, but has yet to fill out, lending him the slightly awkward, gangly gait that comes with approaching teenaged years. He wears a dark, green coat; not one she recognises, but she's surprised to find that she's perfectly in favour. His jeans are slightly tattered at the hem, and his boots show the first scuffs that reveal they haven't been treated with any form of protective wax as she has always made a point of doing to any purchased for either Henry or herself. Still, he walks with a spring in his step, casting a glance over his shoulder, and she thinks for a moment that it's directed towards her, but then realises he looks up above at what is presumably the window of the apartment he shares with Emma.

She is finally able to breathe when he looks away.

"Henry..."

She repeats, audible now, mulling over his name as though it were exquisite and foreign. Her heart continues to work, thankfully, but it beats fast and euphorically; its rythym providing a grounding pattern to the happiness threatening to burst from with.

 _He's here. Henry's here. My son is here. Look, that was my son. Look at my son._

"Henry."

She voices for the last time, before gathering herself together and setting off after him, keeping a careful distance for the time being.

* * *

"Here."

Henry grunts with great care to appear nonchalant.

"Thanks."

Avery smiles, brushing back a pretty, auburn braid from her shoulder to trail down her back as she holds out her other hand to accept the small gift the boy holds out to her. She wears bright white mittens- new- and from where she lingers a couple of metres away, Regina can see that the cuffs are flecked with silver. She keeps her face turned towards a large sign beside the fenced in playground, but takes a surreptitious step closer to better hear what her son says to the girl sat on the bench beside him.

"It's nothing really, just something small and stupid."

Henry shrugs, but his face lights up when Avery hands him an envelope with his name scrawled across the front.

"Are you spending Christmas with just you and your mom?"

She asks, causing a minute, troubled frown to crease the brunette's brow as she keeps her gaze averted elsewhere.

"Yeah, just the two of us."

Henry agrees, sounding amiably accepting of this fact, and Regina reminds herself that it isn't _his_ fault that he hurts her heart.

"Jealous. My mom says I have to go and see my dad for at least _part_ of it, which means seeing Cindy and her kids. They're alright, but they don't half whine, and she's _always_ getting at me for _nothing_."

The girl sighs, and Henry pulls a face as he wrings his gloved hands awkwardly.

"Actually, I better get home or _my_ mom will get on me _too_."

Avery rolls her eyes, before leaning over towards Henry. For a minute, Regina holds her breath as she wonders if the pretty redhead means to offer him a kiss, but instead she embraces him warmly, as he does the same.

"Have a good Christmas, Henry."

Avery offers once she releases him, and he smiles and bids her the same; watching her trudge off through the light cloak of snow that shrouds the park. He waits until she's out of sight before peeling open the envelope in his hand and reading the card. A smile finds his lips as he slips it into his pocket, and Regina turns her back to him and the other patrons of the small park and pulls the silvery vial from her pocket. From her other pocket she produces a couple of hard candies, and she applies several drops of the potion to two out of the three treats in her palm. Turning back, she takes up a seat beside her son, who offers her a polite smile before looking away to watch a couple of little kids argue over whose turn it is on the swings. Clearing her throat lightly, Regina turns to Henry and applies her own warm smile.

"I don't mean to pry, but the card that girl gave you might get rather _crumpled_ shoved in your coat like that."

He looks back up at her and her heart skips a beat, as his cheeks flush a pale pink and he pulls the envelope from his pocket gingerly.

"Maybe."

He agrees dutifully, but there's something in the brunette's smile that causes his own to become a little more genuine.

"It's _cold,_ isn't it?"

She enquires conversationally, and he nods with that same, polite show of duty the brunette is a little surprised remains instilled now that he lives with Emma.

 _After all, it certainly isn't a trait with which Miss Swan has been generously gifted._

She hides a self-satisfied smirk at this, although she supposes that during the course of their relationship she has found it rather a _sport_ to try and pull the absolute worst out of the blonde.

"I was actually hoping you might be able to help me."

She continues, altering her expression to show just a hint of anxiety. It works just as well as she'd hoped it would, and Henry's ingrained instinct to help others around him shines through instantly.

"Why, what do you need?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone at a pizza place near here- a restaurant with a red awning- and I'm afraid I've lost the details about how to get there."

She splays her palms and shakes her head at her supposed foolishness; plucking the facts of her ruse out of thin air. Henry frowns for just a second, before offering her a grin.

"Oh! I think you must mean Juno's- that's closest to here. Their awning is red and white with a tomato instead of the 'o'. We order takeout from there a lot, it's good."

He informs her, and Regina nods despite having no usual appetite for pizza, but keeps up her charade.

"That sounds like it's the one. How do I get there from here?"

"It's easy! Just carry on walking straight out the gates of the park. When you get to the little Salvation Army store, turn left, and then it's about a block down. Theirs' is the only bright awning on that street so you should see it from a way aways."

 _A way aways- a term Emma uses now and again and one that she hates._

"Wonderful! Thank you, I was beginning to think I'd have to alter my plans."

"You're welcome. They might be busy though, as it's the day before Christmas Eve."

"I believe reservations have been made."

Regina lies, before pulling the handful of candy that has been hidden in her coat from her pocket and holding it out between them.

"As you've been so helpful, please help yourself to one of these; I was given them by a friend and they're lovely."

In response, Henry's grin grows wider, but his eyes become slightly wary, and he admits apologetically

"That's okay, I probably shouldn't."

"...Because they don't appeal, or because I'm a stranger offering you candy?"

Regina asks, a little surprised at her son's reluctance to take what he ordinarily wouldn't think twice about, but supposing he has been living in this outside world for a year now- _longer_ to his own recollection- and things that might not require any level of caution in Storybrooke are not guaranteed to be safe out here.

She winks at him to show that she's not offended by his hesitation to take her up on her offer, and he smirks as he hangs his head and admits

"Only the last part... I like candy, but my mom would have a _fit_ if she saw me take some from someone I didn't know."

"Does she do that often?"

The brunette asks curiously, hiding a grin, and Henry pulls a face as he appears to think about it, before shrugging with a smile.

"No, not really. Mom's mostly pretty cool with stuff, but she says I need to remember my privileges."

He says this last part as though it's a single word- mindmyprivileges- that has been repeated many times, thus missing the small flicker of agitation that finds his new companion's brow at the term 'cool'.

 _Would he ever have referred to_ me _as cool? Probably not... Definitely not._

"Privileges?"

She asks, and Henry nods as he elaborates

"I'm allowed to come out here and meet my friends or buy snacks and comic books with my allowance because I make good choices. If I _don't_ do that, and start doing stuff that could get me into trouble, then the rules might change."

Regina raises a brow as this all seems rather more civilised then what she would have expected from Emma, but she supposes that her judgement has been skewed for the best part of knowing the blonde by hatred followed by- regrettably amused- disdain.

"Well, we wouldn't want _that_."

She agrees primly, and Henry grins before continuing in a conspiring tone

"My name's Henry... I'm almost twelve."

And holds out his hand. Chuckling lightly as her heart aches, Regina accepts this offering and shakes his gloved fingers in her own.

"Regina Mills, I'm twenty-one."

"Are you...?"

Henry frowns, although he tries to keep his tone polite and hide his skepticism. To his surprise, the curious brunette sat beside him smirks and confides airily

" _All_ women are twenty-one until they reach their sixties... Some of them are twenty-one until they reach their _nineties_."

"Oh."

He replies with a mystified expression, before deeming introductions complete and taking one of the candies Regina holds out between them. He notes that she holds her breath as he selects one, but she says nothing, and he feeds it between his lips.

The taste is both fresh and minty.

The candy fizzles slightly on his tongue.

And then...

And then something strange happens.

Something... Something not quite ordinary.

 _Extraordinary_ _._

His memory, the one where he and his mother and a couple of her friends had gone peddle-boating on the Fourth of July out by Napa Valley when he'd been... Oh... Who knows? But he'd been wearing waterwings, that much is for sure... That memory springs to mind like a pebble launched by a rubber band, sitting for a moment in the centre of his brain, before it disintegrates- not fades; _disintegrates_ \- and he's sat on a pristinely kempt lawn devouring a large bowl of strawberries and cream while his mother- his _other_ mother- sits elegantly draped over one of the summer chairs that only come out on hot days like this, looking pretty with her dark hair catching the sun.

The Christmas when he and Emma had gone snowshoeing over in Vermont... There _hadn't_ been snowshoes, there had been a sledge. A sledge pulled by Mr Glass- Sydney- and he'd been crying- redfaced and five years old- wanting his mother- _that_ mother- to be out there with him rather than the stuffy reporter.

The cold fall night when he'd accidentally broken one of the windows of their downstairs neighbours, and his mom- Emma- first scolding and then consoling him becomes blurred. There had _been_ no downstairs neighbours. It had been his _own_ house- _Regina's_ house- and he'd broken the window to the bathroom with a baseball.

"... Mom...?"

He chokes now; his mind flickering with facts and memories overtaking and blending with his false truth about his past. There had been no third birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. It had been held at the town hall, where lots of people that didn't neccesarily want to be there had come baring presents they felt obliged to provide. There had been no argument with Emma over what costume to wear for Halloween a couple of years ago, because back then he'd been terrified of anything remotely spooky and had cried into his mother's coat when Leroy had jumped out at him on his way home from school.

" _Mom_?!"

He blinks a few times to make sure that she's real.

She is. She absolutely _is_ , and she laughs with salt wetting her lashes as he embraces her fiercely. Hugging him back on the frigid bench they share as snow begins to fall, she pays no attention to anyone that might be watching them and kisses him affectionately on the crown of his head before pushing him back at arm's length.

"Henry."

She nods, as if in confirmation, and she laughs while wiping tears from her cheeks as the boy wipes childishly at his nose; his eyes wide and startled.

"Mom, what are you... What are you _doing_ here?!"

He whispers, and she smiles- her hands wrapped over his- and sniffs elatedly

"We found a way home, dear... We were lost- all of us- back in the Enchanted Forest, but now we're _back_ , we _remember,_ and you can come _home_. You can come _back,_ Henry, back to _Storybrooke_!"

"Oh my... Oh... _Wow_..."

Henry struggles to get out as his mind feels as though it might explode, and he squeezes his mother's hands feverently as he refuses to look away.

"Henry... I've missed you so much..."

The brunette confides huskily, and he nods but doesn't speak. He can't.

It doesn't matter, his expression says it all, and she pulls him back towards her and strokes his hair- her own becoming dappled lightly with fat flakes of snow.

"We can go _home_ , Henry. I'm here to take you _home_..."

He nods against her shoulder, but it's a while before he responds verbally. When he does, there is a new caution to his tone.

"... And Emma?"

He asks quietly, and the brunette purses her lips as she keeps her grip firmly on the boy, but she assures firmly

"Of _course_ and Emma... You really think the Charmings would _allow_ it any other way?"

Her words are snide, but her tone isn't, and Henry grins into the soft wool of her coat as he can't imagine his grandparents would appreciate it if Regina decided to go rogue on this one. Sensing a release of tension in young limbs, Regina sighs, but urges encouragingly

" _Actually,_ Henry, maybe you could help me with that. Call it Operation Getting Home."

"That's a terrible name."

He shakes his head, and she smiles back at him fondly and insists

"Well, we can work on it... What I need is to get Emma to ingest what's left of the potion I just tricked you into taking to get her memories back... It took less for you as you're younger, and less stubborn to begin with."

"You mean Emma has more years you altered in her mind?"

Henry asks, and the brunette tips her hand back and forth in a see-saw motion to suggest that he's halfway there.

"Not exactly... I altered her perceived reality from the day you were born. I saw no reason to do anything about her memories prior to that, so they should all remain in tact and as they were. You each have eleven years of altered reality implanted by me, but with Emma, it will be harder to break through simply because she's older and that effects charms like the one I have the antidote for."

"You _can_ do it though, right?"

The boy asks nervously, and Regina nods vehemently and assures

"Of course. The only catch to old magic of this variety is that it must be delivered by the hand of its creator."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the easiest solution to our problem would be to have you douse something Miss Swan might deem edible with the rest of the mixture I have in my pocket... It will only work if _I'm_ the one to present it however, and therein lies the issue... I need a way to approach her- as a perceived stranger- and convince her eat or drink with me... One _might_ think getting Miss Swan to do either of those things would be simple enough, but if there's one thing I know she puts before her _stomach_ , it's her _security_. If I go up there and knock on your door offering a tasty morsel with no back story, she'll never let me within ten feet of the two of you again."

Regina explains apprehensively, and Henry mulls over this for a moment before his eyes light up and he proposes gingerly

"What if you _did_ have a back story?"

"Like what?"

The brunette asks, her arms still wrapped tightly around the boy.

"Well, there's an empty apartment the floor above ours, right over our kitchen. The woman that lived up there before was... She was large."

Henry concludes eventually, as he doesn't think some of the words his friends had used- and Emma, beneath her breath- would be considered all too appropriate. Carrying on hastily, he explains

"It made her a noisy upstairs neighbour. There was always this thunking and creaking up there."

"... How does that help me?"

"Well, although Miss Pauline was... a bit heavy... I think it's not too weird to try and make a good first impression with people living near you, especially under or next to you. Emma won't give you five seconds of her time if you go up there without something she can check up on or relate to... But what if you went up and introduced yourself as the new tenant? She'd _have_ to let you in and make nice for a little while if you brought over a neighbourly gift or something, and she won't have _time_ to check out your story if you give her the potion or whatever..."

Henry trails off as he is unsure what his mother might make of this ploy, and she sits in silence with her dark eyes hard to read. Finally, she smiles down at him, and squeezes his hands so firmly he is sure he feels one of the knuckles pop.

"Miss Swan's propensity for sneakiness is rubbing off on you, dear... I have to admit that in _this_ instance that's a good thing! That's a wonderful idea! I could... I could bring her some chocolates... Or wine..."

"Go with wine."

Henry advises, before blushing on the blonde's behalf when the Mayor raises a brow. Elaborating carefully, he points out

"If you bring her a box of chocolates, she might not eat one while you're there. If you bring her wine and start talking to her about moving in and being new to the area, mom-... Emma... Will probably invite you in to have a glass with her. If she _doesn't,_ you could always _suggest_ it..."

"... I suppose that's true. That's a good idea."

Regina nods as she commends his suggestion. Henry smiles happily, his eyes transfixed on delicate features he has been starved of for so long. Finally, he shakes himself free of his silent awe, and appropriates a practical approach,

"Well... Emma's out until about nine tonight... There's a Christmas lunch that runs on into the evening for the local DA's office she's been invited to, so I'm going to my friend Andy's. I need to be there before five or his mom will text Emma as I'm not allowed out on my own when it's dark. I need to go home and feed Jack first, but then I need to check in or I'll be in trouble."

"Jack?"

Regina asks curiously, forgoing the urge to comment on her surprise that the blonde seems to have a firm grip on her son's responsibilities and rules given she'd seen it entirely appropriate to let him run rampant during the course of trying to argue her right to him.

 _Well... Prehaps that's not_ entirely _fair..._

No, maybe not, but she's never much cared for whether Emma was getting a just end of the deal.

"He's my dog, I got him over the summer. We're not really supposed to have animals in the building, but Jack's quiet, and Emma shuts him in her room if the rent lady shows up for any reason."

"You got a dog?"

Regina asks, a little overwhelmed, and Henry nods with a content smile

"Yup. Only because Russ- he's a guy from downstairs- said he'd come check on him once a day if Emma was at work for three dollars a week. That's peanuts she says, but I think he likes her, and he likes Jack too, so that's ok... Technically he's _my_ dog, but most nights he creeps out to go and sleep on Emma's bed. She pretends to mind, but I don't think she does."

Henry grins, and the brunette sighs as she pushes her hair back and agrees

"I would suspect _most_ things Miss Swan _didn't_ agree with might be stopped in their tracks..."

"Definitely!"

The boy laughs, with a note of affection that stirs up a deep wave of conflict in the Mayor. It frustrates her- as it has always done- to endure Henry speaking about Emma so positively. So affectionately. So lovingly. But knowing that she has allowed the blonde to watch over him this last year- that she had _trusted_ her- she is aware that she should be thankful for the fact that her son sees his current protector in such a way.

Changing the subject swiftly, she returns to the task at hand.

"So, If I drop in on Emma this evening after nine... You really think she would invite me in?"

"I think so."

Henry nods, and Regina decides that this is as good a confirmation as she's likely to receive, and agrees to go and meet Jack before allowing the boy to arrive at his friend's house at a suitable time to refrain from causing alarm.

* * *

Eleven minutes past nine.

That's the time Regina makes it when the lights to the apartment Henry had pointed out as his flicker to life.

She'd taken up a post at a small but not unpleasant coffee shop, open surprisingly late for the holidays, opposite the blonde's apartment building. Narrowing her eyes, she can make out the vague outline of a shadowed figure approach the window, before a set of heavy curtains gets pulled closed.

"Well, I suppose that's my cue."

She murmurs to no one in particular, and she nods a dutiful farewell to the friendly young man behind the counter that wishes her a Merry Christmas, before heading off towards the building at the end of the street.

Thinking on her feet, she depresses several of the intercom buzzers but leaves Emma's well alone. A nasal, male voice greets her after a short delay, and she's only halfway through her story about having lost her keys when the line cuts off and a loud whirr beckons her into the building. The hallway is fairly wide, but loses this selling factor somewhat due to a number of bikes and scooters in bright, childrens' colours parked up against one of the walls. There are mail boxes that form a neat grid on the way to the stairs, and Regina notes that while some of them are spilling over with last minute christmas cards and notes, Emma's appears locked up and seldomly used.

Making her way up to the third floor, the brunette passes two doors lining a narrow corridor, before stopping outside a white door with '13' painted in small, neat letters above the lock in dark grey. Readjusting her grip on the bottle of Pinot Grigio in her hand, she closes her eyes and hesitates for just a second, before knocking gently. After a short pause, quick footsteps crescendo towards the door, and painted wood is pulled back to reveal a face the brunette remembers well.

"Hello?"

Emma raises a brow, waiting for the brunette to make her reason for calling known, but the latter seems momentarily lost for words. Frowning, it suddenly occurs to the younger woman that her curious guest stares at the garnish monstrosity of her sweater, and she allows a small smirk and pulls back the door just a little more so that the brunette can see the full disaster of snowflakes and elves parading across the front. Still, her tone is cautious as she pushes

"Can I help you?"

Sensing distrust in the younger woman's polite enquiry, Regina forces herself to stop- inadvertently- staring at her old nemeses' chest, and smiles.

"Hi. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself, as I saw on my way home that your lights were on. I've just purchased the flat upstairs, so thought I would come and say hello."

She holds the wine bottle up like an offering, and Emma seems to digest this information before applying a smile of her own. It is the variety the brunette remembers well; pretty, but lacking in any real warmth. She had received quite a few genuine smiles from the blonde before they'd said their goodbyes with the coming of the curse that landed them so far apart, and she can spot the difference instantly. Still, Emma moves out of the doorway to allow her in, and beckons her through into a large, open-plan living room and kitchen where several candles flicker merrily. Regina debates taking off her heels as she would usually demand of guests in her own home, but she opts against it as she realises- with some surprise- that the blonde wears a pair of high, black stilettos. Raising a brow, the darker woman studies her host a little closer and discovers that the hideous sweater Emma wears has been thrown over what is either a fairly short skirt or a dress, leaving her legs bare. With the elves frolicking on synthetic knit, she'd been too distracted to notice, but now that she does, she follows the blonde towards the kitchen with her eyes narrowed and intrigued.

"Did you mention your name?"

Emma asks over her shoulder, pulling a couple of glasses from a cupboard above the counter, thus revealing another inch of pale flesh that doesn't seem at all in character to the brunette who had grown used to monotonous denim in various dark and drab shades.

"I didn't. My name's Regina. Regina Mills. I've just started at Juno's."

She introduces herself; grasping for anything that might add veracity to her claim for being here.

"Really?... You're a _waitress_?"

Emma turns around, handing over a large glass of wine as she sips from her own, and Regina makes note of the remaining liquid in the bottle. All she needs to do is secure a second helping which she is able to tamper with and this whole charade can come to an end.

A good thing too, as there is something really quite distracting about the way the blonde is dressed, and time apart has left her forgetting how electrifying the latter's rapt stare can be.

Still, for now she greets Emma's query with a frown of offence as she is able to read the dubiety in cool green eyes, and she understands the reason behind it. Shaking her head while offering her host a tight smile, she puts her right about her imaginary position.

"Silent partner."

She corrects, in no way prepared to play the role of the help, even if it's purely pretend. Emma seems to find this slightly more plausible as she drinks in the sleek lines of the darker woman's suit, and she nods as she sips from her glass; her throat pale and long.

"Really? I thought it was just that old bastard Luis and his wife. That's a pretty good deal you have there, though. We love that place."

"I'm glad."

The brunette smiles emptily, not paying all too much attention as the younger woman pulls a couple of cubes of ice from the freezer to chill the wine in their hands, as she allows her gaze to flicker around the room. The furniture is minimal, but several plants have been dotted about the place giving it a fresh, homely feel. What surprises her most is the fact that the blonde's apartment is fairly neat; having spent enough time with Emma back in Storybrooke to doubt she'd be the sort. It occurs to her that the younger woman might employ the services of a cleaner, and she muses upon this possibility with a sense of wonder. On the fridge, there are a couple of illustrations; chunky and ill-proportioned. She recognises the writing beneath them instantly as Henry's hand, and bites the insides of her cheeks as the fact forces the air from her lungs.

"Come over, come sit."

Emma pulls her from her reverie, and when she turns back to the blonde, she finds her attention returning in full force as the younger woman strips her ugly sweater off over her head and tosses it towards what is presumably her bedroom door.

 _Definitely employs a cleaner._

Noting the way dark eyes glitter, the blonde grins with a small shrug.

"I've just come back from a Christmas party with work. It wasn't... _totally_ terrible, but it was close. Lots of gossip and giggling. My boss at the DA's office- that's mostly who I work for at the moment, although technically I work freelance- got us all to wear those hideous things. Itchy as all hell, and a total eyesore I know, but I wasn't in the mood to make waves."

Regina nods as she swallows; her attention not so much on the sweater the younger woman had worn when inviting her in, but rather the black dress- the _tight_ black dress- she's been wearing beneath. She recalls several less than flattering comments she'd made in the past at Emma's expense, pertaining to her being both cheap and promiscuous, but in all honesty, she'd never found a whole lot to back them up.

 _Hell, even with_ Graham _, she finally managed to convince me that he and I got up to a whole lot more than_ they _ever did..._

...The blonde doesn't look _cheap_ , she will allow her that much, but then there is something in the younger woman's bone structure- much as there is in her own- that prevents this. The dress she wears is inarguably sultry however, and Regina looks away as she accepts- not for the first time- that despite her many grievances, she has always found Emma to be unpleasantly attractive. Before meeting the Saviour, it would have suited her a great deal if the blonde had been nothing short of a gargoyle, but she would have taken ugly or even plain over what she'd received. She has become inwardly aware since then that most of her barbs about the younger woman's fidelity and morals might have been born from irritation at finding her enemy to be appealing to the eye, but she has never cared to allow those thoughts too much room to grow.

Now, she has little _option_ but to think on the blonde's appeal, as they sit opposite one another on the younger woman's small loveseat beside an empty hearth.

"It won't work."

Emma sighs, and Regina looks from the glass in her hand to the Savoiur's lips and frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"The fire. It won't work. It's one of those fake ones- gas fire- but I've never gotten around to fixing it up. A valve's gone or something, and I've been meaning to look into fixing it... I've been _meaning_ to do a lot of things."

She chuckles self-depreciatingly, and her dress moves with her mirth.

"Like what you see?"

She asks, and Regina stills with her wineglass pressed to her lips and stares into curious green with a flustered response

"What?"

"The _fireplace_..."

Emma elaborates with a roll of her eyes, although the twitch to the side of her mouth suggests that she isn't perhaps so innocent as her explanation implies. Regina pulls herself together swiftly with her cheeks tinged a light pink.

 _Don't be foolish; she's not only innocent, she's completely_ oblivious _. Stop whatever it is you're thinking, because you're wrong. This is Emma, Emma Swan, and the feeling you're trying to ignore in the pit of your stomach is either nervousness or food poisoning, but it has absolutely_ nothing _to do with her._

She sips at her wine resolutely, and replies in a causal tone

"I suppose. Although it's hard to tell with it being faulty."

"I was only thinking that if your new apartment had the same sort or you were looking to get one, I might be so bold as to ask if I could come and take a look to see if I can figure out how to fix ours without calling someone in."

Emma shrugs, watching the brunette out of the corner of her eye as the latter places her glass on the low coffee table in front of the sofa and begins unbuttoning her coat. It's warm in the apartment despite the lack of false fire, and when Regina frees herself of dark wool to expose a pretty, burgundy shirt buttoned low, the blonde's cheeks suddenly feel very hot indeed. She looks down at her wine glass distrustfully; ordinarily not one to invite strangers in nor shoot the shit with them, but something about the darker woman intrigues her. She would _almost_ say that there is a sense of familiarity there, but she knows for a fact she's never met the brunette before.

 _If you had, you'd have made a move... And you would sure as_ hell _remember if you'd been rejected by a woman like that._

 _Who says I would have been rejected? Maybe it was a while ago and we were drunk?_

She sighs and tells her busy mind to shut up and let her concentrate; concluding there's no way she'd forget _not_ being rejected by the brunette either. This lends her a small smirk which Regina drinks in curiously.

"Have you lived here long?"

The brunette asks, genuinely interested in the answer Emma might give.

 _Yes, interested in_ that _. Not the way her hair appears longer and messier than I remember it... Ordinarily not at all to my taste, but on Miss Swan..._

"About five months now."

Emma replies, wetting her bottom lip with her tongue as she notes the way pretty, dark eyes fail to meet her own as they roam restlessly further south.

 _There's a pull here. A pull that seems entirely right, which is weird for me..._

"Is that all?"

Regina raises a brow, telling herself not to watch the pink velvet flicker of the younger woman's tongue, but unable to help herself. She takes a sip of her wine; guilty and deep to compensate. She is brought back to the first time she'd met the blonde, when she'd invited her into the drawing room to sample some cider...

 _For a brief moment, I forgot who she was and why she was there... And in that moment, the thoughts my mind conjured were obscene. It was just for a second, and then they were gone; thwarted by my knowledge of who she was and why she'd finally come to seek me out._

 _I'd pictured it, though._

 _I'd pictured taking her._

 _Topping her._

 _Fucking her._

The Mayor's cheeks flare crimson as she tries to tell herself that no truth lies in this claim, but she knows that it does... She'd just conveniently chosen not to dwell on it after confirming Emma to be entirely toxic and a waste of space.

"Yeah, we moved here after a fire in my old apartment building. To be honest, I prefer it; it's a little quieter this side of town, but I can get anywhere I need to be, and Henry's happier at his school now... He's my son."

The blonde explains, and Regina notes with some curiousity that she imparts this last bit of information with a suddenly cagey cast to her expression. This strikes her as odd, but then she supposes that wih Emma believing she'd kept their son and raised him herself, she must suffer some false memories of the sort of reaction one might receive having a child when they are barely considered an adult themselves. She knows the blonde well- despite Emma being currently oblivious to that fact- and she knows that small slights cut deep. It doesn't _matter_ that almost twelve years have passed; the younger woman remembers those dirty looks and they've stuck.

 _It's what makes us surprisingly alike._

"How are you finding it?"

Emma interrupts her train of thought yet again, and Regina searches for her meaning, before adopting a smile and making herself a little more comfortable amongst plump chushions. In doing so, she turns in towards the blonde just a little, causing the younger woman to move in kind without fully processesing the fact.

"Living here? Well, that remains to be seen. I'm decorating before I move in properly."

Regina lies, and Emma nods acceptingly, as with each sip of her wine she begins to relax just a little. She watches her guest as the darker woman looks around; noting the minute threads of honey that add depth to her hair, and the flawless application of her lipstick. She wonders if she should feel excited or apprehensive that this curious woman is soon to be a regular feature in her life. True, she has never made a habit of seeing any more of her neighbours that neccesary, but if this Regina settles in downstairs... Well... Who knows.

 _Don't go shitting where you eat, Swan._

She reprimands herself irritably, but as the brunette's throat works as she swallows her wine, she wonders if perhaps it wouldn't be worth it.

"It's so rare to see people keep things tasteful."

The darker woman muses quietly, and Emma blinks in surprise and furrows her brow.

 _Ok, so, maybe I'm playing this all wrong. Maybe I should-_

"Your tree."

Regina clarifies, pointing over to the generously full Christmas tree in the corner. The decorations are almost all white or made out of wood, with just a couple of strands of fairy lights twinkling amongst the branches. The simplicity of the tree is in fact mostly due to a lack of time- where the ornaments she remembers packing up just before Henry turned nine have gotten to, she has no clue!- but it has turned out favourably, and with the moderately expensive light fixture that illuminates the decorations, the whole scene is really quite lovely.

"Oh! I thought... Thanks. I'm not really a fan of all the glittery stuff people seem to go crazy for."

"Nor I."

The brunette agrees.

"I like things simple."

Emma shrugs, and the Mayor would ordinarily use such a foolish statement to make fun of her companion, but right now, she supposes she can see what the blonde means. Her dress is _certainly_ simple.

Simple, minimal, yet sinful. Seemingly tailored to the younger woman's exact form, as there isn't a fraction of fabric that hasn't been pleasingly filled.

"I see."

Regina breathes, and the blush that finds her cheeks as she realises the blonde raises a brow at her open observation isn't quite so vibrant this time around. She has come here for a purpose; to bring Henry and Emma back, and that's precisely what she means to do. But this isn't Emma as she remembers her. This is Emma without the shroud of being the Saviour, or Henry's _other_ mother- her rival.

This is Emma; a woman a couple of months shy of her thirty-first birthday, living in a remarkably nice apartment for the area, who has thrown her several inquisitive glances since she arrived with her tall-tale about moving in downstairs.

 _Dirty glances. Those looks she's been giving are_ dirty _glances... But not in the way one would ordinarily use that phrase._

Watching as Emma pushes back messy curls and tips the last of her wine down her throat, she has no trouble imagining- _fantasising, oh hell, what's this?!_ \- that the blonde can be really rather _dirty_ indeed if pushed.

She swallows as the younger woman pushes herself up from the sofa, not making too much of an effort to keep from appreciating pale thighs as Emma tugs absentmindedly at her dress to corral it back into place.

She forgets about the potion in her coat. She forgets about her plan... Just as Emma seems to forget to adjust the hem of her dress once again after bending into the fridge.

 _Did she even really_ need _to bend... Or was that for_ my _benefit?_

Regina frowns; her head spinning. She looks up as the blonde turns around to face her with the bottle of wine raised in her hand.

"Do you want some more? After all, 'tis the season."

 _It is. And yes, I want some more. More than I have been offered or have ever_ thought _about wanting before. Without the arguing and the constant input of the others, what's left is this raw, immense energy that I had always assumed was due to residual hate- after all, I wanted to_ kill _you not a year ago._

 _That's not what I'd like to do to you_ now, _though... Oh, but there_ are _things I would like to do to you now..._

"Yes. I want more."

She agrees huskily, watching as Emma tops up her glass. She notes that the blonde does so at an angle that isn't really neccesary but is definitely appreciated.

 _She's flirting with you... There's no_ denying _that's what she's doing. She has no clue who you are or why you're here, and so she's coming up with he_ r own _reason to keep you around..._

A ludicrous idea- surely- but when green eyes flicker up to meet sultry brown, the brunette's breath catches as there is nothing in Emma's stare that allows her to continue thinking she's mistaken.

Nothing in her stare, and nothing in the way she has made no move to cover herself up as her dress can only do so much.

 _That dress..._

 _Oh, it's a nice dress._

"It's not what you might be thinking."

Emma states huskily as she takes up her seat; closer this time than before. Radiating body heat.

"Excuse me?"

Regina asks in little more than a whisper, perplexed and cautious; not wanting to get called out as- just like everything else between them- she senses this is somewhat of a game.

"The way I'm dressed... It's not to _impress_ anyone I work with. It's out of spite. My current boss likes to make snide remarks now and again about my conduct and mannerisms, and this ensemble aggravates several of those points quite nicely... Really, it's a shame that's the end of its use... A _waste_ , almost."

The blonde muses pensively, looking down into her glass, before licking the lingering sweetness of her last sip from her lips.

Slowly. Pointedly.

"It's terrible how much we waste this time of year... Don't you think?"

She enquiries quietly of her captivated guest, and the darker woman nods- just as pointedly, just as slowly- as she allows her gaze to wander without pretence.

When she finds sharp features, the blonde makes a show of looking up, and the Mayor follows suit; spying to her absolute amazement a small sprig of mistletoe. She looks back and finds a small grin painting pale lips; offset so appetisingly by the dark kohl smoking green eyes. She imagines that it had been Henry's idea of a joke, not Emma's of seduction that led to the mistletoe hanging where it does- having bought a couple of sprigs herself over the years 'for luck, for love and luck!' as he would say- but that doesn't matter right now.

What matters is that the blonde's dress is tight and has ridden up as she's crossed her legs. What matters is gently parted lips and the intensity of green eyes that have been narrowed or rolled at her in the past. What matters is what she wants... What she has to have.

"Well... 'tis the season."

The brunette breathes, before leaning in. She does so hungrily, and without any mind to the caution warranted by the situation. Her hand finds pale skin first; her palm sliding up beneath the blonde's dress, moving with the curve of the latter's thigh to rest high and intimately dipped towards her apex. The other finds soft curls and closes into a tight fist, as her lips crash- not brush- against the younger woman's; the sordid tension of the last couple of years leaving little time to play things safe.

The blonde offers up sly velvet as her hands find the luxurious fabric of the Mayor's shirt. Everything's hot, everything's electric, before slim thighs snap shut, and Regina pulls back with a cry; sharp teeth nipping her tongue.

"Regina...?!"

Emma pants, her eyes wide, although her cheeks are pinpricked with scarlet blossoms and her lips are wet.

"Mmm?"

The brunette replies irritably, before she too suddenly freezes; recognising the look Emma offers her.

The look of realisation.

Of remembering who she is.

"Regina?!"

Emma cries again, and this time there is no doubt in the brunette's mind that the spell keeping the blonde captive for the last year has been well and truly broken.

The spell she came here to break.

Something that _should_ have required the potion that remains potent and unused in the pocket of her coat.

"... Oh... Shit."


End file.
